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“That look. Yahtzee! Tell me!” Claudia said to Myka, for the umpteenth time today. But Myka went back to carefully placing Jackson Pollock’s favorite painting stick on the shelves.
“Claud, I have to make sure that I do this right. I don’t need anymore Jackson Pollock vision in my future. It was like cataracts on crack. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the man was a genius, but I swear to God, if I have to run through an amusement park with pain splatter vision ever again, it will seriously be too soon.”
“But I know that there’s something that you want to tell me, or, you know, that you should at least tell Cho.”
“Tell Cho? Wow, you must really be concerned to advocate that one.” Myka paused, and then stared at Claudia, squinting her eyes, and pursing her lips.
“This is a Pete thing,” Myka said, nodding more rapidly as she went on, “This has to be a Pete thing.”
Pete was at a reunion for his college wrestling team. Ever since they had left Helena G “forget-the-world-of-endless-wonder” Wells back in Wisconsin as Emily Lake, he had been keeping tabs on her like one of her high school textbooks. And he had offered to stay and hang out with Myka about a million times if she “needed him to,” which, she didn’t, thank you very much.
So she made him leave, but only until he promised that he wouldn’t find some random artifact that caused them to switch bodies. And it was a promise that he obviously couldn’t make, if Myka’s last high school reunion was any indication.
Claudia started to try to explain herself, but Dr. Abigail Cho poked her head around the aisle, visibly startling Myka and Claudia. “Heya—Artie needs to talk to you both. Sorry. I came down myself. I think yelling is probably bad for Artie’s, well, for his everything.”
“Thanks, Abigail, we’ll be right up,” Myka said with half of a smile.
“Getting to be like Mrs. Frederic, that one,” Claudia mumbled, just loud enough for Myka to hear.
*
Artie was monitoring the levels of the Gooery and gnawing haphazardly on an oatmeal scotchie when Claudia and Myka walked into the office.
“Abigail,” Artie said, without looking up, “We are going to have to do some rewiring in one of the neutralizer quartiles. And we’ll need Steve.”
“It’s just us,” Myka said, drifting to her favorite corner of Artie’s office.
“What do you need, Artie?” Claudia piped up, “Goo-draw McGraw, they call me,” she said, as she blew out the smoking gun created by her thumb and forefinger.
“No, I need you and Myka to get on a plane. You’re going to Rio. We have a ping.”
Myka crossed her arms, and her shoulders folded around her sternum, the way that they tended to do when she was thinking. “You can’t mean today, Artie,” she said, checking her watch.
“What do you think I mean, a week from Wednesday? Of course I mean now.”
“No,” Myka continued, “you can’t mean now, because Mardi Gras is in two days. And lasts for six whole days. Rio will be nearly impossible to navigate.”
“I have it on good authority that there is an artifact causing a stir. We’re America’s attic; that includes both of the Americas.”
“Causing a stir how, Artie?” Claudia asked.
“Not all of the birds are singing. Including Belinha Rodrigués, who is supposed to sing on one of the floats during the festival, for one of the most prestigious samba schools. Apparently she has shut herself in her hotel room, and will speak to no one.”
“Artie, what if she just doesn’t want to sing?” Myka asked.
Artie took another bit of scotchie, and handed a file to Claudia. “Do you smell that, Claudia? I smell… apples. Huh,” and left without another word.
*
“Well this is definitely not South Dakota in March,” Claudia said, as she shed herself of her blazer, and she and Myka exited the airport. They had been dumped into a flurry of people preparing for the festivities with a swirl of bright colors, such a stark contrast to the Warehouse in winter.
“No kidding,” said Myka, putting on her sunglasses and flipping open the Farnsworth that was already buzzing. “Hey Abigail, what’s up?”
“I forgot to mention before you left,” Abigail said, her distance away from the Farnsworth moving back and forth like a trombone – clearly still getting the hand of the paradox that is Farnsworth tech. “I spend a little bit of time in Brazil – not a ton, but a little, so if I can help or anything, just, let me know.”
“Thanks so much, Abigail,” Myka squinted at the Farnsworth and smirked, “Are you making Artie do yoga?”
“Yeah, great, bye!” Claudia snapped the Farnsworth shut, and shoved it in her bag.
“Claudia, I hate to break it to you, but I really don’t think that she’s going to be leaving anytime soon. Besides, she’s kinda awesome. Just give her a chance.”
Claudia reslung her bag over her shoulder and tucked her hair behind her ear.
“It’s what she, you know, represents, Myka. She’s probably great or whatever. But anyways, where are we going?”
“Well, Artie said that the ‘official’ ping was luckily located pretty close by. Let’s go to this, hotel, shall we?”
Claudia flagged down a cab while Myka checked and rechecked the files, trying to find a clue about what they could be looking for.
“Dude I love this festival,” Claudia said, looking out the window at the flashes of color being erected, meant to glimmer and cherish the moment. “Pete is going to be so mega jealous that he missed this. We should tease him about the beautiful women he missed out on seeing for like, the next three weeks.”
I only want one beautiful woman, Myka thought, before she knew she was thinking it, as instant as the shattering of a glass, and just as reversible. Shit.
*
Myka smiled at the sight of the hotel lobby. The front desk of the place where Belinha Rodrigués was staying looked as if it had bloomed out of sand dune. It wasn’t entirely her cup of tea, but it was no less breathtaking.
“For a girl who loves snowmen,” Claudia mused, “you sure are having some kicks in the sunshine. Also progress report: there isn’t enough zinc in the world for my nose right now.” She began to press on her nose at random intervals, revealing a slight burn already starting to form.
“It’s just a nice feeling. Especially since I’m hardly wearing less than three layers to bed back home.
“Hi,” Myka put on her best ‘secret service’ voice, and placed her elbows on the large white desk of the concierge, “We’re here to see Ms. Rodrigués? Is she here?”
The concierge nodded at the name, looked up and down at the two women who did not look ready to celebrate a birthday party, let alone Carnival in the Mardi gras capital of the world, and said, “Vêm.”
The concierge led them to the elevator, and told them to go to the penthouse, which was where Belinha and her brother, who was watching over her, were staying. He was surprised when Myka thanked him in Portuguese, and told him that she hoped he had a lovely day.
“You’re such a Maestro,” Claudia said, pursing her lips, and hitting the elevator button for the penthouse.
“Well, you’d be surprised. My Brazilian Portuguese leaves something to be desired.”
The elevator dinged at the penthouse floor, and Myka and Claudia were greeted by a young man.
“Hello, I’m Paolo, Belinha’s brother,” said the man of about 25, whom Claudia tried not to gape at.
He invited them in to the penthouse and told them that he would also be performing in the festival, doing capoeira.
“What’s capoeira?” Claudia asked, definitely not biting her lip.
“It’s a style of dance, but also martial arts,” Paolo said, smiling.
“It’s really intense, it takes a lot of physical strength,” Myka agreed. “It’s very cool to watch.”
Myka looked around the room, and over to the bed, where she finally saw Belinha.
The woman was around Myka’s age, and certainly beautiful. She was lying on her stomach, and drawing what appeared to be a picture of a house over and over, and looked to be almost sad.
“I’ve had to keep an eye on her,” Paolo said. “She is either glued to her bed, or she has a tendency to wonder off. She’s pretty preoccupied.”
He explained that she had been recently offered a record deal, and would be going away to record her first album, and that the mardi gras celebration was really her send off performance.
“That’s such a shame,” Claudia said, in earnest. “We’ll totally get to the bottom of this.”
Other than being draped with some of the most intricate clothing that either Myka or Claudia had ever seen, full of sequins, and beads, and bright dyes, which shouted of the hard work of a seamstress, a string of photos lined the back corner of the penthouse along with a giant map of Brazil, and .
Myka pulled down one of the photographs, attached to the line with a clothespin.
“These are beautiful, who took them?”
“Belinha did. She is a singer first, but she always did know how to hold a camera.” Paolo smiled. Myka could feel the closeness of his body, looking at her look at the photo, and shot a worried glance at Claudia, who was already looking at her with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
“Why don’t I go check to see if we can’t get access to the elevator tapes?” Myka said, almost running out of the room. “Claud—see if you can talk to Belihna!” Myka practically marched out of the room, trying desperately to hide her embarrassment the fact that her body felt at home next to the body of Helena Wells and no one else’s.
*
After about 30 minutes of unsuccessful talk with Belihna, who couldn’t really talk about anything but her childhood home, and how much she loved her mother and her brother, Claudia was surprised to find that Myka was nowhere to be found. She called numerous times on the Farnsworth, and nada. She asked the concierge where Myka might have gone, and he pointed her only in the direction of outside.
“Perfect. I’m alone at the world’s biggest party. Literally,” Claudia said to herself aloud. “Myka, when I find you, we will be discussing this cruel irony.”
Claudia finally found Myka sitting at a corner café drinking coffee.
“Myka! Cheese and rice! I’ve been looking everywhere for you and –” Claudia could tell that the look on Myka’s face was a very bad sign. She had not been crying, but it looked as if she were crying without tears. She was turning around a piece of paper between her fingers. Claudia snatched it from her hand, and Myka hardly noticed.
“Oh no, Myka. No. Not you too. Crappity crap crap.”
Claudia turned the paper right side up, hoping that it would offer a shred of information about what could have done this, but all it said was,
KEEP IT.
YOU CAN OWE ME.
“Myka, what are you keeping? Who do you owe?” Claudia asked, racking her brain. Myka’s demeanor hardly changed, the heaviness in her expression balancing the lightness and brightness of the people setting up in the streets, eager to begin celebrating. Claudia shook her head as she put in a call to the warehouse on her Farnsworth.
*
Claudia ended up trying to stay awake with Myka for most of the night, but went back out to talk to Paolo, but he wasn’t at the hotel. The concierge had a note from him that Paolo had requested be given to Claudia, and as soon as she read it, she raced back to see Myka.
When she got to the place where they were staying, Helena G Wells was standing outside by the fountain, waiting.
*
“HG!” Claudia ran into her arms. She wasn’t always team Helena 100% of the time, but at this point it was such a relief to see a familiar warehouse face that Helena could have been hell bent on destroying the world yet again, and Claudia still would have felt better.
“Have you been up to see her?” Helena was not beating around the bush.
“I haven’t been in our hotel room since this morning. The traffic in this place is insanity. It takes me at least an hour to get anywhere. I mean they’re building a party in the street. It’s like Artie got ahold of the bedazzler again, only better.
“Where’s Belinha now?”
“The hospital,” Claudia said. “She just walked out into the street, totally haphazardly, and got hit by a car. It was just so weird, HG; she hardly even looked sad.”
“That’s because she wasn’t sad, Claudia,” Helena admitted, “At least she wasn’t just sad, if she was sad at all. She’s something else. And so is Myka. I have a hunch, I think.”
“Do you know about this?” Claudia pulled the piece of paper Myka had been holding from her vest pocket, and gave it to Helena. She stared at it for a long time, but didn’t respond right away, and when she did, she answered a different question entirely.
“Go find Paolo. He’s the only one who was around his sister enough to know what Belinha owned or didn’t own that could have caused this. I’ll stay here with Myka.”
*
“Saudade,” Helena said, looking around the room, and back to Myka, who lay in her bed, finally asleep, with the sheets pulled up above her chin.
The room was littered with papers, strewn haphazardly, some crumpled, others splayed in wide arrays, some covered in ink, and others with only a sentence or two. She walked in a semi circle, surrounding Myka’s bed, and it did not take long for her to figure out that they all started out the same way:
“Dear Helena”
Helena swallowed the lump in her throat, wondering how she found herself here, with this perfect woman, who had clearly been, as Pete would say, “whammied,” and how clearly her extra one hundred years of knowledge made her no closer to being wise.
Claudia, on her way to see Paolo, buzzed HG on Myka’s Farnsworth.
“Why do you look like Myka is the puppy that you just kicked? ” Claudia raised an eyebrow.
“Not intentionally,” Helena blinked back tears. “It just reminds me of this painting. Of a woman who looks just like Myka – well her face, her expression. It was painted right before I went into the bronzer.”
Claudia’s eye widened, “What the frack are we dealing with, Helena?”
“It’s called ‘saudade,’ Claudia,” Helena sighed, “and Belinha and Myka have it. But the version that Myka has is my entire fault.”
“Care to shed some light, HG? We have an incapacitated Myka, which I thought was literally impossible.”
“There isn’t really a word for saudade in English. The closest that I can think of is melancholy, but that isn’t right – it isn’t intense enough. It’s a deep longing, for a specific time, a specific place, or… a specific person. It’s about feeling the absence of that time or place or person. It was once described as ‘the love that remains’ when a time, a place, or a person goes away. And it’s the longing that sometimes takes its place.”
There was a silence at the other end of the Farnsworth, and then Claudia looked Helena dead in the eye, “This is about Emily Lake, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it is, Claudia.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“Well, something is... exacerbating these feelings, appear to already exist, for both Belinha and Myka. So the artifact is doing some sort of extreme magnification.”
“I’m on it, Helena. Take care of her, would ya?” Claudia said, almost threatening, and feeling it necessary to defend Myka from something she couldn’t name.
Helena snapped closed the Farnsworth, and looked over again at Myka.
She moved over to the bed, and laid down beside her, running her hands across the threads of the sheets until she reached Myka’s sleeping face, and tucking one of Myka’s tousled curls behind her ear, waking Myka slightly.
“Helena?” Myka breathed, her eyes still closed, and half asleep.
“Yes, yes darling it’s me,” Helena smiled.
“Why are you gone, Helena? You left, did you know? And I am too sad that you are gone, but too happy that you exist at all, as Helena Wells, out in the world, being you, to know what to do about anything.”
“Oh, darling, I am so sorry that I have ever for one second left you. And that all of the love in the world from me wasn’t the love that remained. And that you have had to settle for this absence,” Helena’s eyes welled with tears, and Myka blinked again, slowly opening and closing her eyes. When Helena came into focus, Myka looked her very squarely in the face, and said, “I am imagining you.”
“No, no Myka, I’m real. I’m here. You’re being affected by an artifact, but I’m here.”
“You know, Helena, it’s, it’s not that you were gone that was the hardest part, but it was the hope that you might come back that killed me. Hope is it, hope is the killer!” Myka was nodding, almost drunkenly, sleepily, about the woman she didn’t believe was really in front of her. Helena tried to keep that in perspective while this artifact grated on her past, and from it the regret continued to bleed.
“Shhhh,” Helena soothed, and turned Myka’s body around, and folding her body around her, spooning her with one arm tucked under Myka’s torso. This way, Myka would not be awakeed by the uneven breathing of her quiet crying.
“Sleep, my love” Helena said between staggered breaths, as her eyes clipped off tears into the plushness of the pillow under her head, “I will be here when you wake up.”
*
By the time that Claudia had gotten ahold of Paolo yet again, and somehow managed to get him back into Belinha’s penthouse, she was not in a nice mood.
“My friend is sick, Paolo, and you’re going to fix it, or at least tell me how to fix it.”
“When I first found them, they made me miss her, miss home. I just wanted to remind her that no matter how famous she got, or where she ever went, that we would always be her home.”
“Them? What are they, Paolo?” Claudia demanded.
Paolo ran his fingers through his hair. The sound of samba music was beginning to build in small pockets of the street, guitar strings wound tight with excitement.
“Listen, your hotness, this is not the time. What did you give your sister to make her remember home? You brought the photographs, right?”
“Yes, but – ” Paolo reached up to the photos, but ran his fingers across the wires that they were strung upon. “I got these at an auction.”
Claudia looked closer. “Bro, these are guitar strings!” she exclaimed. “Whose are they?”
“They were supposedly a set of guitar strings used by Antonio Carlos Jobim. The father of bossa nova.”
Claudia grinned.
“Paolo, would you say that ‘saudade’ is a prevalent theme in bossa nova, just by chance?”
*
Claudia and Paolo rushed to the hospital, with Helena and Myka at the other end of Myka’s Farnsworth. If the artifact in play really was Jobim’s guitar strings, it would have to work for both of them after the strings were neutralized.
“Helena, are you okay? You haven’t been affected too have you? You look…”
“I don’t want to know how I look Claudia, also, I’m sorry about this angle, my other arm is numb. It’s under Myka.”
Claudia opened her mouth to say something, but decided against it, as she was in the company of Paolo, and also a recovering, but still very melancholy, Belinha.
“Alright, let’s do this.”
Claudia carefully, yet assertively shoved the strings into a static bag, and ducked down as the sparks flew around her purple gloves. Immediately, Belinha blinked rapidly, and looked around the hospital as if she had just come out of a dense fog. “Paolo!” she said, “What happened to me? Oh, I’m so glad that you are here,” she looked at Claudia, “There is nothing like the people that are your home, yes?”
*
On the other end of the Farnsworth, Myka awoke very suddenly, and jumped at the feeling of Helena’s body behind her.
“Oh my god. Oh my god, HG! Helena that was, -- you were…”
“I was where I should have been all this time.”
Helena sealed the promise of these words with a kiss that was among many other things full of the promise of many more tomorrows.
“We are good to go over here, Helena! What have you got? Helena?”
For a minute, Claudia couldn’t see anything, and then she saw Helena break away, just barely, from a shriek, and a cover of kisses.
“Myka, Claudia. I’ve got Myka.”
Claudia shook her head, and smiled, “Thank goddess.”